


Warden Business

by catsplosion



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23133352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsplosion/pseuds/catsplosion
Summary: An old friend comes calling on the king.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I wrote a fun little smut called Warden Stamina. As it turns out, I wasn't done with Alistair and Maeve.

Alistair lay in bed long after sunrise. He couldn’t sleep, and he didn’t care that morning had begun to fade into afternoon; fatigue had settled into his very bones.  _ Perhaps this is how it takes you. Exhaustion. It just robs you of sleep until you can’t take anymore. _

He, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, was dying - with no heir to take the throne - and he didn’t care. All he cared about was her _. The  _ her. 

“Maeve,” he said aloud, a sigh, a soft plea. He cared about nothing so much as seeing her again. He wanted to find her, to ask her to join him. They could go down to the Deep Roads, comrades in arms one last time, together til the very end. But he didn’t even know where she was, hadn’t seen her in years.

He shouldn’t regret it. Ferelden was thriving… well, it had been before the war. And it was largely thanks to him that the country didn’t side with the Order and dispatch soldiers to hunt mages, and it was his idea to give Redcliffe Castle as sanctuary until the rebel mages became dangerous. Altogether, he and Anora ruled the country well together. It was the only thing they did together, but that suited them both fine.

Still, a part of him  _ did  _ regret it. A part of him hated himself, in fact, for letting her go, for agreeing to marry the Ice Queen. Some days, some moments, a part of him even wished he had died that day.

Of course, he could have, but…

_ No. _

He didn’t think about that. Not for a second.

With a groan, he hauled himself out of bed. With a strong cup of tea and the shades drawn, he could probably manage.

He underestimated the difficulty he would face in trying to secure a meeting with the queen. It made him chuckle. What would the people say if they knew the king hadn’t so much as spoken to the queen in… a week? Maybe more?

A page suddenly skidded up beside him, panting. “Sire, there’s a visitor here to see you.” He took a deep breath, his face very red. “She said it was of dire import, and she would speak only to you.”

His brows knit in confusion. “Who is it?”

The page sighed. “She would only say that her name is Rose, and that she’s from Lothering. She said ‘Tell him that, and he’ll see me.’”

It took him a second, then it hit him like a hammer. He felt almost dizzy, the way his heart began to pound. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. “What,” he murmured, “did she hear me?”

The page cocked his head. “Sorry, sire?”

“Nothing, nevermind. Show her to my study, please. And,” he called after the page as he went scrambling down the hall, “you might slow down? I highly doubt anything is on fire.” 

Although really, you never knew.

He paced. He couldn’t help it. However he thought he should act, he couldn’t help but pace. 

Another knock. His palms were damp, his mouth dry, and he desperately wished he was ready for this, but here it was. “It’s fine, just send her in.” He leaned back against his desk, as if he could look casual.

When the door opened, his heart stopped.

_ Maeve.  _

Streaks of silver decorated her ebony hair, which she wore pulled back from her face, as always. Time had added lines to her face, and exhaustion had added still more. 

She had never been more beautiful. 

“Maeve,” he breathed.

“Alistair.” Her voice sounded strained, stiff. It hurt him to hear it. 

He offered a small smile. “Or should I call you Rose, from Lothering?”

She returned his smile, but with one laden with sorrow. “I hoped it would work.”

They stood in silence, her trying not to look at him, him unable to look away. She wore a simple purple dress that lit up her eyes, but why? Never before had he seen her in anything but robes.

“You’re - I mean, you look, um… well.”

She snorted softly. “I look like shit and I well know it. I’m exhausted.” She scrutinized him. “As are you. It’s why I’ve come.”

Equal measures of hope and gratitude washed over him. “Oh, Maeve,” he sighed. “I was just thinking about you, actually. I thought we might… you know, if we’re both going to the Deep Roads...”

She sighed, but it was a very different kind of sigh. One he couldn’t remember Maeve ever directing at him. One that stung like a slap. “This isn’t the Calling, Alistair.”

His brows came together. “Isn’t - what? Isn’t how?”

“It’s too soon. Much too soon. You know that.”

The wound inflicted by her exasperated sigh vanished, replaced by an ache in his heart for her. But as much as he wanted to let her cling to hope, he couldn’t. “I know it’s early, and I don’t know why,” he said gently, “but -”

“You don’t understand. We  _ all _ heard it. Every Warden I’ve recruited since the Blight. Some barely a year from their Joining.”

A chill enveloped him. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know, but it gets worse.” She finally looked him fully in the eyes, and the sadness, the  _ haunted _ look in her eyes took the breath out of him. “They’re  _ gone _ , Alistair. Every Warden I know, every Warden in Ferelden, as far as I can tell. Even Nathaniel. They’ve all gone.”

He felt a sharp pang when she mentioned Nathaniel. Were they -  _ Maker, Alistair, are you really worried about that right now? _

“What do you mean, gone? Gone where?”

She rubbed her temple, an achingly familiar gesture of distress. “Warden Commander Clarel has called all Grey Wardens to Orlais. She has a plan to end what she’s calling the impending Blight. To end  _ all _ Blights, before they can begin.” She sat heavily in a nearby chair. “With blood magic. She wants to perform a blood magic ritual to gain command of a demon army, to journey into the Deep Roads and slay the sleeping Old Gods before they can wake.”

Alistair thought ‘blood magic’ sounded bad enough, and then she added ‘demon army.’ “I can’t… I mean, that’s kind of… a lot.”

“I know,” she said, and frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to distress you.”

He sat on the edge of the chair nearest hers. “What is it you need from me? I’m not sure - with the war going on and all - I’m not sure what help I can offer.”

“No, I didn’t come for that, either.” She looked at him, and for a moment her stony facade cracked. “I came to make sure you’re safe,” she said softly. “To make sure you didn’t answer this false Calling.”

“I was stalling,” he blurted. “I hoped… I hoped to find you, so that…” He sighed.

She bit her lip, her eyes downcast. “Here all these years I’ve been trying to avoid the Calling,” she said softly, “and you manage to make it something to look forward to.”

How desperately he wanted to touch her hand, to take her into his arms. Instead, he sat stiffly, searching for something to say. 

“So where did they all go? The Wardens? Surely they didn’t -”

“Oh, but they did. Well, I assume they did. None of them left notes. Vigil’s Keep, Soldier’s Peak - everywhere I went, all I found was Wardens I’ve never met, lying in wait for me. I don’t know if they meant to kill me or only to take me captive. I didn’t bother to ask.”

“Why would they -”

She uttered a sharp, humorless laugh. “Did I forget to mention? Because I spoke out against Clarel’s insane plan, I’ve been branded a traitor.”

The repercussions of this quickly clicked into place. “You can stay here. As long as you need, of course. We’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Getting abruptly to her feet, Maeve shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.  _ You _ stay here, and stay safe. That’s all I came to say. The rest of it is my problem, and I’ll handle it.”

“How? Where will you go now?”

“Wherever I can learn more about what’s going on. I just have to keep moving.” She looked at him, her expression softening. “Please take care of yourself, Alistair. I’ll figure this out. We could use a night’s sleep, couldn’t we?” She turned to go.

Almost before he realized he was doing it, he crossed the room and gently took her arm. “Let me come with you.”

Her green eyes widened. “What?”

“I’m serious. Let me come with you. Blood rituals, demon armies - this affects us all, and you can’t stop it alone. I’m still a Grey Warden by blood.” He moved closer to her. Too close, dizzyingly close.  _ Maker help me, she still smells the same.  _ “Let me come with you.”

That familiar crease formed between her brows. Her haunted look became a tortured look and he regretted whatever he had done to cause it. “Alistair,” she murmured.

“Maeve, you’re all alone out there, against a threat that could leave the  _ world _ in ruins. I’m the only other Grey Warden left.”

“And what will Ferelden do without its king?”

“Rip itself apart in civil war? Oh wait, it’s doing that already. Honestly I think it’s out of our hands at this point, anyhow. Anora can manage.”

She looked at him, long and hard, then shut her eyes tightly and whispered something that sounded like  _ Maker forgive me. _ Then she looked at him. The exhaustion had never been so evident on her face, particularly around her eyes, and he noticed for the first time the hollowness of her cheeks. Sleep wasn’t the only thing she’d been deprived of as late. “I do… need help. I can’t pretend otherwise. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

He drew back indignantly. “I train with a blade every day, Maeve Amell. I meditate. I practice. I can do this.”

“This isn’t the Blight, your Highness.” Traces of a smirk touched the corners of her mouth. “This is you and I against every Warden. This is a rebel mage and a former templar traveling together during the mage/templar War. This is long days, sometimes without food, cold nights without shelter -”

“All the more reason you shouldn’t be doing it alone.”

“Alright. Yes. Join me, and we’ll probably go to our unceremonious end, exhausted and hungry. But maybe, just maybe, we’ll help save the world. Again.”

He smiled, and so did she, and his heart threatened to burst. His hand twitched, crying out to touch her face, cup her cheek, draw her in for a kiss, but he didn’t.  _ This is not  _ my _ Maeve.  _ The icy, jagged thought came to rest in his heart. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have to discuss it sooner than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hits harder/makes more sense if you've read Warden Stamina, but if smut's not your thing it's still readable.

They arranged to meet in a wooded area beyond the walls of Denerim. “I’m leaving at dawn,” she had warned, “whether you’re there or not.”

Alistair  _ had _ kept up his swordsmanship and his mindfulness, but he had never been particularly stealthy, so his next task presented a challenge. Slowly throughout the afternoon, he needed to gather supplies. It made him laugh - he even needed to find a pack. The easiest thing to obtain was the food, which he wanted quite a bit of - it looked like Maeve hadn’t eaten today at least, maybe longer. 

Sneaking down to the armory presented a much greater challenge, but somehow he managed. In the dead of night, he left a note in his study. “Anora - I have Grey Warden business. Try to be nice while I’m gone. - Alistair” 

She would either be furious or delighted. He cared little either way. Clad in a suit of scale, he slipped from guard patrol to guard patrol until he managed to sneak out. He arrived at what he thought was the designated place, but there was no one there. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind him. He smoothly whirled around, drawing his sword, leveling it at -

“Maeve?”

“I’m impressed.” 

He sheathed his sword, sighing. “You were testing me?”

“I was being careful. I had to be sure it was you.” 

She had traded her dress for leather pants and a long coat. It stirred a part of him that hadn’t been stirred in some time. He knelt and unwrapped his parcel. “I brought food.”

“Maker be praised,” she sighed, dropping to her knees. She ate the way he remembered after her Joining - enthusiastically and unselfconsciously. It made him smile. 

When she’d had her fill of meats, breads, and cheeses, she settled back on her heels and took a pull from a waterskin. “Truly, thank you for that. I can’t remember the last time I had fresh bread.” 

“So what do we do now? Did you still want to wait until dawn?”

“I think we should go now. We’re ready, aren’t we?”

So they did.

Maeve set a grueling pace - the luxury of one unencumbered by armor, Alistair thought, but the truth was that this was something he  _ hadn’t _ kept himself prepared for. He started to fall behind despite his best effort, and when Maeve noticed, she stopped to wait for him. 

“I’m sorry,” she assured him, “it wasn’t intentional, I promise.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, embarrassed by how short of breath he sounded. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. It’ll slow you down enough for me to pick up my pace.”

She nodded. “Well, have you ever met the Champion of Kirkwall?”

He combed through his brain. “Hawke, isn’t it?”

“I’m meeting her in Crestwood. She’s fought this Corypheus before, and she says she has a fair sum of information about him.”

“Why does that matter? Didn’t the Inquisitor defeat him at Haven?”

“I’m not so sure, and neither is she. And it can’t possibly be a coincidence - Corypheus, the Conclave, the hole in the sky, and this false Calling. I don’t know how they’re connected. I need to find out.”

They pushed on all day, despite their mutual exhaustion. Alistair couldn’t believe he managed, but he couldn’t disappoint her already, so he did. 

Maeve looked sullen as she built the evening fire. 

“Can I do anything?”

“No,” she sighed, “there’s little to be done.” She settled onto the ground by the fire. “Should we get it over with?”

His brow furrowed. “Get… what?”

“We have to talk about Anders eventually. May as well be now.”

He sat not far from her - but not too close. It was a delicate balance. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it.”

“I left first. Once Vigil’s Keep was well and established, I set out on my own. At one point I came back, and he had gone. No one even knew he was in Kirkwall until news of the explosion spread. And I certainly don’t know where he is now.”

“I’m sorry.” It sounded weak.

She laughed humorlessly. “Why? Because I conscripted him? Or because I was sleeping with him? If it’s the latter, then I should apologize to you too.”  
His stomach turned. They had never spoken of that, which had suited him just fine.

“I’m sorry, Alistair. I am. I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine. I just… when I think of you, that’s not the memory I choose.”

She sat quietly for some time. “Nor I.”

_ She thinks of me. Even now.  _ He wondered. He remembered the last time they were alone, when she had come to the castle for some celebratory function. They had stolen away to some small room off the main hall. 

_ Her Warden robes lie in a pile on the floor and his hands explore the soft curves of her body as he holds her pressed against the wall, his mouth enslaved by hers. _

_ “Please,” she gasps. “Alistair, I will burn to death from within if you don’t take me this second.” _

_ His hands move to slip off her smallclothes...and he stops. The thought of his father intrudes. How many maids and serving girls had his father taken in just this way? Alistair could easily have been conceived in this very room, in this very manner. _

_ He pulls Maeve into his arms and presses his face to her neck. “I can’t,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Maeve, I can’t. Not like this. Not here.” _

_ She understands. Of course she does, she is his Maeve, she has always understood. She wraps her arms around him and soon they are both weeping. _

_ It is the last time she comes to the castle. _

He realized she was watching him. “Sorry, miles away.” He offered a strained smile.

“Or years,” she said softly, and looks back into the fire.


End file.
